Only You (Adair Family #5)(62)

“I’m so sorry about your dad, Brodan. I’m sorry I didn’t come to his funeral. I regret it.”

Brodan reached across the table and curled his hand over mine. “I understand. And thank you.” He released me and sat back in his chair. “I was so angry when he died because I felt like I hadn’t gotten a chance to really know him. That I’d pushed him away as much as he’d pushed us away. We had a complicated relationship, and it left me with lots of regrets. So I buried myself in acting. I realize how true that is now. How empty I was in between takes. I don’t want that to be my life, Roe. To turn into my father and be so crippled by fear and grief that he held the people who loved him at arm’s length. I want to come home. I want to see my nieces and nephews grow up. Maybe,” he paused for a second, “maybe have kids of my own.”

My gut twisted at that. “Oh.”

“So, no, I’m not going back to acting. But I still like the world of storytelling, you know. I’ve, uh, I’ve been working on a script.”

Surprise suffused me. “Really?”

Brodan nodded, seeming almost shy. “I don’t know if it’s any good. I actually … I wondered if you might read it.”

“Me?” I pressed a hand to my chest. Surely, he was mistaken. “Brodan, what do I know about scriptwriting?”

“You read more books than anyone I know and I come from a family of readers. But I don’t want their opinion as much as I want yours. You know a good story. That’s all I want to know. I want your honest opinion, if you think it’s a good story. I trust you.”

Well … damn it.

“Brodan—”

“Please.”

Sighing, I nodded. “Okay. I’ll read it for you.”

“Great.” He smiled. “I’ll come over to your place with it. I’ll bring wine. The good stuff.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You opportunistic bastard.”

Brodan chuckled and shrugged unapologetically.

“You’ll bring it to school next Thursday. I’ll read it in my own time, and I’ll get back to you. Now shut up and eat some of these sandwiches.”

“I like this bossy side of you.” His gaze smoldered. “I’d quite like to see how it translates in the bedroom.”

I stiffened, arming myself against his flirty, cocky charm. Not meeting his eyes, I said quietly, “The last time you were in my bedroom, you humiliated me, so you’ll never be back there again.”

Once more, Brodan reached across the table to curl his hand around my wrist. Tortured sorrow darkened his countenance. “If I could take back those words, I would. But know that I did not intend them to humiliate you. I said them to push you away because I was so scared of how fucking amazing it was to be with you.” His grip tightened. “I would never lie about this, Monroe. And I would never say these words to win you over. I’m saying these words because they’re the truth. Until I ruined it … that night with you was the best night of my life, second only to our afternoon in the castle turret.”

Heat flushed over my skin as his words caused a deep flip low in my belly. I squeezed my legs together under the table and yanked my wrist out of his hold. All the outrageously beautiful and experienced women he’d been with, women from all over the world, and he expected me to believe that our rushed fuck in the caravan and inexperienced fondling in the turret were the best of his life?

“Talk to me, Sunset.”

I looked him straight in the eye. “I don’t believe you. And I want you to stop. It hurts me, Brodan.”

“Why don’t you believe me?” he almost pleaded. “Monroe?”

“Because,” I hissed, leaning over the table. “I’ve watched on, with the rest of the world, as you moved from one extraordinary woman to another, and you expect me to believe that I’m special.” I snorted and pushed back from the table. “The only thing special about me, Brodan, is I’m the first woman to say no to you. I’m a challenge, and you’ll grow bored. Like always.” I stood and yanked my wallet out of my bag, fumbling for some notes. I threw them on the table as he glowered up at me. “Just leave me alone.”

I hurried out of the café, no longer caring if I stirred up a hornet’s nest of gossip, and strode quickly toward the cottage.

“Roe!” Brodan called after me.

Fuck!

I whirled around. “Do you not understand English?”

Determination and anger etched his features as he marched toward me and only drew to a stop when inches separated us. “Aye, I’ve been with a lot of women. And every single one of those encounters was empty because I wanted nothing more from them than the quick relief of sex.”

Jealousy soured my gut. “Brodan—”

“I don’t know what makes someone the person who fits you.” He shrugged in exasperation. “But you have been that person since I was a wee boy. First as my best friend.”

“Brodan—”

“Then …” He breathed hard, like he’d been running. “Then one day, we were walking along the beach, and you turned to smile at something I said, and I felt your smile here.” He placed a fist to his lower belly. “You gave me butterflies. I’d never had butterflies in my fucking life.” Brodan stepped closer. “We were fifteen, and it had been warm that morning so you were wearing this blue strappy summer dress. But the weather changed as we walked on the beach. The wind kept whipping your hair and dress. You weren’t wearing a bra, and your dress was molded to every inch of you … and I wanted to lay you down on the beach and make love to you.”